


Life is More Than Fiction

by acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, adiwriting



Series: All The King's Horses [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Tometheus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 20:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12895944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheaptrickandacheesyoneline/pseuds/acheaptrickandacheesyoneline, https://archiveofourown.org/users/adiwriting/pseuds/adiwriting
Summary: It's been five months since they got Tommy back and the world still has no idea he is alive, which is just fine by him. He's got Oliver. He's got Thea. He's got Netflix. What more could he need?





	Life is More Than Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out, it takes about a year to realize, this is not going to be a multi-chapter story. However, you can enjoy 6 hours worth of random scene plotting that will become several one-shots in this verse. Sorry, but enjoy!

“In what universe does Blaine cheat on Kurt?” Tommy asks by way of greeting when his best friend walks in.

“I can get behind the fact that everyone magically knows the choreography to a song they  _ spontaneously _ decided to sing. I can even get stomach this ridiculous Finchel crap they shove down our throats. But Blaine cheating on Kurt? That’s ridiculous. I can’t watch this anymore.” 

“Finchel?” Oliver asks, clearly holding back a laugh. 

“Finn and Rachel,” he explains, his eyes not leaving the screen as he watches Santana break up with Brittany over that cheesy Taylor Swift song. So there go the only two things worth watching this show for. 

“Tommy.” 

He can feel Oliver's heavy stare and he fights to not curl up into himself on the couch and keeps his eyes trained on the TV in front of him. Oliver shouldn’t make him anxious. He’s known him his entire life. Still, Tommy can’t control his reactions sometimes.

Thea claims it’s just post-traumatic stress. It’ll pass with time the longer he’s back. He’s sure she’s right. He counts it as a win that he is able to remain still on the couch and doesn’t flinch when Oliver pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair.  

“You were there when I left for City Hall this morning,” Oliver says. He always did have a way of stating the obvious, even when they were kids. “Did you even move today?”

“Really, Oliver. I’m wounded you feel a need to ask.” He covers his heart with his hand and leans back as if struck. “I had to open the door to get food, didn't I?” 

There is an impressive collection of take out containers on the coffee table that is doing double duty as his footrest. Which he should do something about since Tommy had Oliver cancel the cleaning service when he moved in for fear of people finding out he’s alive. 

He’ll clean it up when this episode finishes. Probably. 

“Are you seriously on season 4 already?” Oliver says with a resigned sigh, already knowing the answer to his question. Tommy can hear the judgement in his voice, but chooses to ignore it. 

Oliver takes a seat on the couch next to him. Tommy's muscles tense involuntarily and he chastises himself. He’s not in any danger here. In fact, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Four years ago, he died saving Laurel, and now he’s back. It’s a miracle. He knows that. 

He just needs his body to catch up with his brain. 

Since May, after coming to on the rooftop of dear old dad’s building, Tommy has found his body in a constant state of fight or flight. It makes sense, he supposes. While Oliver and Thea won’t give him all the details of what happened in the past year, Tommy isn’t so removed from civilization that he can’t work Google — even if he’s still trying to figure out how to navigate the new iPhone Oliver got him. He’s read about the horrible things he’d done. He just doesn’t remember any of them.    
Clearly, his body does. 

He needs more time. And until then, he’s content to sit comfortable on the couch and binge watch Netflix. 

“You just started this show,” Oliver says. 

“I know. It’s embarrassing. My brain tells me no, yet I keep letting this garbage play,” Tommy explains. He hopes making a joke will make Oliver stop looking at him like he’s his next project. 

“You know you can just press stop at any time right?” Oliver says with a laugh. “No evil force is holding you hostage, forcing you to finish the show.” 

“I know… but I’m telling you, every so often, there’s a moment of brilliance and I get it.” 

“Get what?” he asks. 

“Why Laurel used to watch this show with Jo,” Tommy says. 

He ignores the pitying look that Oliver is sending his way and exits out of the show. Bringing up Laurel has made him angry and he doesn’t want to be angry with Oliver today. 

Not today. It’s a Friday; Oliver is off work for the entire weekend; and the Stars are playing Gotham later on tonight. This is exactly what Tommy needs. Some down time with his best friend to remind him of why he should be happy to be back. 

“I’m willing to admit that the show went downhill after season 2 and stop watching if you’re willing to marathon those plaid demon hunters with me instead,” he says. 

“Supernatural?” Oliver asks, and Tommy nods. “No. I lost Felicity to that black hole and I didn’t get her back for over a month. At least Glee has an end in sight. What about Sherlock?” 

“13 episodes. Child’s play.” He laughs. “What else you got?” 

“The West Wing?” 

“We’re going to need to talk about your crush on Donna Moss,” Tommy says. “It was cute when we were 14 and you thought you were going to marry her. Now?” 

“It’s a political drama. I’m a politician,” Oliver says, holding up his hands defensively. 

“I’m still trying to figure out if the entire city just blacked out the video of you peeing on a cop from college or what?” he says with a laugh. “If you’re going to watch a political drama, Madam Secretary is where it’s at. At least it’s current events.” 

“The Blacklist?” Oliver offers as Tommy mindlessly scrolls through Netflix’s suggestions. 

“I thought you didn’t think it was a good idea for me to watch anything too violent,” he asks, raising his eyebrow at his friend. 

“Which should show how desperate I am for you to stop watching Glee,” Oliver jokes. He stands up from the couch and goes to grab them both a beer out of the fridge. 

“I finished the Blacklist last month.” 

“You did?” Oliver asks, surprised. 

“You were on that business thing. I decided to go crazy and break some rules,” Tommy says. 

“Tommy…” Oliver looks at him warily and Tommy can’t help but laugh at how worried Oliver looks. 

“Relax, buddy,” he says. “I drank two bottles of your 82 Bordeaux, ate in the bedroom, used your shower, and marathoned violent TV shows. Nothing that would get me arrested.” 

“I was saving those for a reason.” Oliver glares at him but Tommy learned long ago how to tell whether Oliver was really angry with him. He’s in the clear. 

“Your best friend came back from the dead. I think that’s a fair reason,” he says with a shrug.

Oliver shakes his head and lets it go. He opens their bottles of beer and walks back into the living room, handing one to Tommy. 

He studies the label. He doesn’t recognize the brand. Oliver used to drink Bent Paddle, but apparently they went out of business last year. 

“On Pointe Ale?” Tommy asks, taking a tentative swig of the bottle. 

“A new craft beer place opened up down the street a few weeks ago. Rene’s buddy owns it,” Oliver explains. “It’s good. Right?” 

Tommy nods and doesn’t mention that he likes Bent Paddle better. What would be the point? 

“Ah, something we can both agree on,” Tommy says as he finally sees a title worth watching. “Prison Break. We’ve gotta do a refresher while Season 5 is still on Hulu.” 

“You need to get out of the house.” 

“Or — I could continue to pretend like I don’t know if Finn and Rachel will get back together and keep watching Glee,” Tommy says. 

“God no,” Oliver says, throwing his head back. “I’ve had the Glee version of ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ stuck in my head for the last few days. You’ve ruined Journey for me.” 

“As if you ever liked Journey to begin with,” he says, scoffing at the idea that Oliver ever had taste. They both know that he was the one that brought class and culture to their friendship. “I’m pretty sure you had a bigger crush on Justin Timberlake than all the girls in school.” 

“Hey,” Oliver says, pointing his finger at him in mock seriousness. It’s such an Oliver move. Something he’s done since high school and that little reminder that some things are still the same is comforting. 

“NSYNC was catchy and you goddamn well know it,” Oliver defends himself. “Besides, it got me laid more times that I can count.” 

“I got laid just as often as you and I never had to act like a 12 year old girl,” he argues. “Besides, everyone knew that JC was the best one of them anyway. The only reason he never made it as big as JT is because he was too ahead of the curve. The world wasn’t ready.”

“Now who’s the 12 year old girl?” Oliver asks with a roll of his eyes. 

“There’s nothing 12 year old about getting off with a girl to a song called ‘All Day Long I Dream About Sex,” he says. 

And damn. He’d actually forgotten about that memory until just now. Jessica Taylor. She’d been damn good in bed. Wonder what she’s up to these days… 

“It’s a gorgeous evening out,” Oliver says, changing the subject.   

Tommy snorts. Oliver wouldn't know how to do subtle if it hit him in the face with a shovel. If he wants Tommy to get out, he can just say it so Tommy can shoot him down properly. 

“The humidity isn’t good for my hair,” he says. 

He knows damn well that no matter what he says, Oliver won’t give up. Even when they were in high school, Oliver was always the guy who had to be right, no matter what. And right now, he’s convinced that Tommy needs to get out of the apartment. In the time that he’d been gone, Oliver seems to have forgotten that the only person who ever managed to out-stubborn him was Tommy —It’s a Merlyn trait, after all — and Oliver isn’t winning this battle. 

“I got tickets to the game tonight,” Oliver says.

“And you think it’s a good idea for me to go to a stadium full of thousands of people?” he says, shaking his head in amusement. “Unlike when you died, you actually buried my body. People saw my gorgeous corpse. Even for a city as crazy as Starling, I think seeing me walking around would be more than they could handle.” 

“Star City,” Oliver says with a smile that causes Tommy to snort. 

By now, it’s practically reflex for Oliver to correct him every time Tommy forgets about the name change the city underwent. The entire thing is ridiculous. Calling it Star City is like putting lipstick on a pig. No amount of makeup is going to cover up the never ending death and mayhem. 

When he puts Star City into Wikipedia, it’s a long list of terrorist attacks and gang violence, no different from Starling. A fact he knows, because he’d spent serious time looking up every article he could find on what the city affectionately called the Throwing Star Killer. 

He’s still partial to Prometheus. Saving humans before being chained to a rock sounds less reprehensible than serial killer. 

“Either way, I’m good here,” Tommy says. “The beer is free and I can pause the game if I need to go to the head.”

“I’ll pay for your beers,” Oliver says. 

Tommy just stares at him, not dignifying that with a response when he’s already said no, until Oliver sighs. “You can’t keep living like this.” 

“That sounds like a challenge.” 

Can’t Oliver just be satisfied that he is back? Does he really need to keep pushing him to join the world again? Tommy doesn’t want to join the world. He’s perfectly content exactly where he is: living with Oliver, enjoying frequent visits from Thea, and escaping into the TV whenever they are both busy and his thoughts get too loud. 

Oliver shifts until his body is facing his and Tommy leans further into the arm of the sofa, away from Oliver.  

“I get that you don’t want to announce to the world that you’re back,” Oliver says. 

“Good. Now that that’s settled,” he says, over enthusiastically, hoping Oliver will take the hint. He doesn’t want to discuss this. He picks up the remote. “Prison Break or Parks and Rec? I hear I just need to skip straight to season three.” 

“Tommy.” 

“Oliver,” he says, imitating Oliver’s super serious voice. He misses the man Oliver was when he first got back from the island. The one that never wanted to talk about anything. 

Tommy wants that guy back. 

“I just think that it wouldn’t hurt to leave the house every once in awhile,” he says. 

It’s not that Tommy doesn’t want to leave the house. He wouldn’t mind going out and seeing some of his old favorite places. He wouldn’t mind catching a game with Oliver or grabbing a bite to eat somewhere that isn’t this apartment. 

But outside has people. Tommy has a hard enough time interacting with the delivery man without having a panic attack. How is he supposed to brave the public? 

What if somebody recognizes him and starts asking question he doesn't know how to answer? Like: What is it like to be dead? Did you see your mom? Did you actually even really die, or was it a pity play to try to make Malcolm seem more innocent?

No thanks. He’ll pass on the interrogation from random strangers. 

Doesn’t Oliver see that it’s just better for everyone involved if he stays inside? 

“Come grab dinner with me. We’ll go somewhere quiet. You can wear a hat. Nobody will know who you are,” Oliver says. 

“Why can’t you just be happy I’m here and not trying to kill you anymore?” Tommy argues, feeling his temper start to rise, but he pushes it down. 

He has to push it down. He’s always so worried about losing the semblance of control he regained when he came to on that rooftop.

He’s not going to argue with Oliver about this. He won’t. 

“I am happy you’re back,” Oliver says, the fight leaving his body. “So happy. I missed you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I am okay,” Tommy says. 

Oliver nods and seems to drop the subject, turning to the TV. Tommy is relieved and sinks back into the couch. He holds up the remote as a peace offering and says, “Prison Break or Parks and Rec?” 

“Prison Break,” he says. It’s obvious that Oliver has no interest in watching TV for the fifth night in a row, but he doesn’t say anything more on the matter. 

Tommy feels bad. He knows that Oliver is just trying to help, but Tommy isn’t ready. 

Not yet. 

He starts the episode. 

“I beg of you though. Please, no comments about inaccuracies of prison life,” Tommy complains. 

They’d tried watching the Avengers together last weekend and it had been awful. Tommy just wanted to lose himself in a mindless movie for a few hours. He didn’t need a detailed commentary on how archery doesn’t work like that. As if Oliver is telling him anything he hasn’t already learned from League. You know, the exact memories he’s trying to escape during his hours of binge watching. 

He doesn’t need that again. 

“Even if breakouts  _ are _ part of your resume these days,” Tommy says. “I get it. You’re hard knock. I don’t need to hear it.”  

“Fair enough,” Oliver says with a laugh. 

The sound of his oldest friend so relaxed and happy — something he hadn’t seen since before the Gambit went down — causes the knot in his chest loosen a bit. Tommy’s always been the funny guy. It’s much easier to hide behind jokes and charm, pretending the world’s perfect than it is to show emotion. So he’s used to covering up his pain with a joke. So really, the fact that his jokes have never failed to distract Oliver and make him feel better? Icing on cake. 

Tommy knows that Oliver doesn’t have much in the way of distraction nowadays. In every picture he’s seen of Oliver — in every news broadcast — Oliver’s always wearing his fake, press smile. It’s never genuine. Not that the public would know. But Tommy knows. He can see the stress in his best friend’s eyes through the screen. And he can see it in the way his shoulders sag when he comes home after a long day.

Making Oliver laugh is one of the few helpful things he can do these days. 

“To be fair, my only true experience with prisons are Russian gulags,” Oliver says with a roll of his eyes. 

“You’ve been arrested plenty of times stateside,” he counters.

“Been in jail a few nights, never in prison,” Oliver says. 

“Only because your family was loaded and could grease some judges palms,” he says. “I’m still convinced that was the only reason you avoided jail after you stole that taxi.  Your lawyers weren’t  _ that _ good.” 

They settle in for the night and Tommy glares at Oliver everytime he looks like he’s about to open his mouth and point out another inaccuracy. They watch two episodes before Tommy feels Oliver watching him more than he’s watching the TV. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He glances out of the corner of his eye, and Oliver’s worry is evident. 

Tommy immediately feels guilty. For the past few months, Oliver has done nothing but help Tommy try and get back on his feet. The least he can do is throw him a bone. It’s not Oliver’s fault that he’s been thrust into this world after being gone for 4 years. It’s not like he knows the thought of going out in public sends Tommy into a panic attack for the ages.

God, he’s never felt a kinship with Buffy. He’s always felt he was more of a Spike. But now he understands how she must have felt coming back from the dead. Everything is just too damn much most days. It’s no wonder Buffy went crazy and randomly burst into song after that witch brought her back. 

He should really give Buffy a rewatch. He had the biggest crush on Faith. 

Maybe that’s the show they should be watching. Then maybe Oliver would understand and stop giving him such a hard time. 

Oliver isn't the one to blame for his inability to actually go out and  _ do _ things though. Tommy knows the blame falls squarely on his own shoulders. He needs to work past the constant cycle of “what if” that keeps him paralyzed. He shouldn’t be afraid of living. He recognizes that he’s supposed to be thankful. Being brought back is a gift. Or so they say. 

But try as he might, he isn’t ready to sit in a stadium of people. That’s doing a backflip off the high dive and he can’t even handle the kiddie pool. What would be the equivalent of a sprinkler? Maybe he could meet the delivery man in the lobby instead of buzzing him up. That would be going out in the world. People would see him. 

Oh god, people would see him. 

Maybe if he had a hood. Oliver goes out in a hood all the time and the entire city is full of idiots that somehow don’t recognize him. He could get a hood. Hell, he’s already got a full beard. He’s still got Prometheus's voice modulator. He could go out. 

Nobody would ever know. 

What is the Oliver Queen approved sprinkler? He knows the lobby won’t be far enough to satisfy the stubborn ass sitting next to him. Food? He does still need to eat and this beer really is no Bent Paddle. They could go out to eat, especially if he keeps his back to a wall. 

Tommy sighs in defeat. “I’ll agree to lunch.” 

Oliver’s face lights up like the Rockets just took the series. It is way too enthusiastic of a response for lunch. He’s about take it back when Oliver says, “We’ll go someplace small.” 

He’s trying for nonchalance as if it’s possible for him to sound like anything other than an over excited puppy. 

“I’ve been craving Mario’s,” Tommy says, reluctantly, but as soon as he says it, he realizes he’s actually more excited than he thought. “Did you know they don’t deliver? Or apparently pick up their phone?”   

Oliver winces.

“What?” Tommy asks, his heart sinking, already knowing what Oliver is about to say. 

“Mario’s closed down after the Siege. Never opened again.” 

Tommy takes a deep breath. It’s just a restaurant. It’s not a big deal. 

Except… It was his mom’s favorite place to bring him when he was younger. There’s a picture of Tommy sitting in a booth at Mario’s wearing one of those cheesy Happy Birthday hats blowing out the candles on his fifth birthday cake. It had sat framed on his mother’s desk for years, long after she’d died.

Beyond that, it was where Laurel and him spent every Sunday night once they moved in together. It’d been her way of helping him feel closer to his mother after his father had cut him off. 

It may have only been a building but it had felt like a home to him in all of the ways that his own home never had. 

“Damn,” he says. 

He adds Mario’s to the growing list of things that are different since he came back. The world kept turning without him and that’s a weird thing to accept. 

“Giovanni works at a place a few blocks away,” Oliver says, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy does his best not to finch at the touch. “If you slip him a fifty, he’ll still make you a deep dish.” 

Tommy nods. 

“A lot’s changed since I’ve been gone.” 

“I guess,” Oliver says. “But some things are still the same.” 

Tommy raises his eyebrows. 

“Like the fact that you still look like a knockoff Backstreet Boy when you don’t shower.” 

“Why are you so obsessed with boy bands still? And it’s not like you have any room to talk. You looked like a serial killer with that hair you used to have. I don’t know how Laurel ever agreed to date you.” 

It slips out before he even realizes what he’s saying and it’s not until Oliver is wincing that he remembers that Laurel is no longer here.

No matter how many times he’s reminded of that fact, he still can’t quite believe it. That even after he pretty much died to save her, she still wound up six feet under not four years later. His blood starts to boil, but he ignores it. He’d been having such a good day. 

Oliver must sense where his thoughts wandered off to, because he says, “Why don’t we walk past her memorial tomorrow.” 

“I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
